30
Men of the future, it is you also whom I desire to approach;
it is above all of you whom I solicit a welcome. Do not think
me proud: I am merely accomplishing the task which has been
assigned to me. Feeble as my voice is, perhaps something would
be amiss, if I did not surmount my own weakness. Upon some
night which is like the night I was picturing to you, with this
same friendliness of things, in the heart of just such recollections
as I found myself in, if upon one of our great human evenings,
this voice reach to you and you receive it without disdain—in
whatever place I may be, you shall know that I rejoice.
I should not have put on again such a sumptuous apparel in
order to please you; but one’s garb changes and perhaps, my
words, bare as they are will reach you more easily than more
dazzling words. And if I repress my emotions as much as I
dare, do not accuse me of coldness: others have spoken very well
before me, others will speak too well after me, and I fear much
a vain accent because I do not know how to subdue my voice.
As I speak to you am I not after all in a house which is strange to
me? And if I should speak in loud tones:—“Who is this, you
will say, who thinks he alone is interesting!”—You find nothing
here but one of you.
At least I have done what I could. And if I can do more I
shall do it.
(Tr. by Matthew Josephs on)
MARCEL ARLAN D
HAVRE-NEW YORK
H AVRE IS a city of masts and of rain, inhabitated by
bales of cotton, Brazilians and hygronomes. It holds
the record for fresh water and the record for salt
water. It is at Havre that actresses, poets and mar
shals go on board.
My friend, Jerome Coeur, walks ahead of me, up the gang
plank. We approach the “Loustic” (Olympic, Titanic, Maj
estic, Loustic). The sailing is set for six o’clock. The bell on
shore, suspended from the sky by a cordage of sea gulls, already
sounds a long rallying in feathers.
Jerome Coeur sighs:
—“Again a departure to the screech owls!”